


The Whole Tooth

by Nadat



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:57:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadat/pseuds/Nadat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something's up in Ankh-Morpork, but then, something's always up in Ankh-Morpork. A holiday-themed short story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Whole Tooth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [perryvic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/perryvic/gifts).



“And what is this?” Vetinari had been about to set down the piece of paper filled with Leonard of Quirm’s latest sketches when it had caught his eye, a small shape that didn't seem to fit.

Leonard wasn't even looking; he was far too busy examining his current sketch of Naked Man That Is Outstretched In Several Directions For Artistic Study. “Which this? If you mean the Hitch For More Horses then it’s not done yet. I haven’t solved the problem of how to add more horsepower but still keep their hooves hitting the ground.”

Vetinari frowned, seeing that drawing too. Wagons went fast enough; for everything else there were clacks or brooms. But that wasn't his focus right now. “I mean the crook shape.” Compared to everything else that filled Leonard’s papers normally, it seemed deceptively simple*.

The inventor came over then, checking what Vetinari meant. “Oh, that’s nothing. I was theorizing that the shape could be the best way to distribute flavor to the whole tongue while giving the person something to hold onto, but I realized quickly that what one really wants is more surface area, and they don’t want a handle.”

Watching Leonard return to his drawing, Vetinari decided to let it go for now. It was safer than last month’s pursuit of using animal skins to slow a fall from the ceiling.

_*Complication was fairly typical of Leonard of Quirm’s work, especially considering the wagon seemingly powered by a teapot that the hook was right underneath. “In case you get thirsty while you’re traveling,” had been the explanation. Sometimes it was wisest to not comment on what Leonard drew._

~*~

In another part of the world, Nanny Ogg had just set her hand down on a sticky table. Her table. And it was sticky.

Granny Weatherwax’s eyebrow went up. “You’re making a face, Gytha.”

Nanny’s daughters-in-law were cringing before Nanny pulled her hand up, and the noise clearly struck fear in the hearts of even the strongest.

“I thought the house was cleaned,” Nanny said. Her voice was even and calm. That made the daughters-in-law all the paler. It was good to keep one’s temper. It motivated people to help you keep it all the more, and Headology was all about the motivations. Before she could ask any questions, though, or Granny could raise the other eyebrow, her Pewsey wandered in, covered in pink.

He climbed up on a chair and started drumming on the table, right where she’d set her hand. “Want more!” he declared.

There was a long pause as Nanny added her affection for Pewsey with realizing the source of the stickiness and subtracted how much she wanted the women who had married her sons to fear her. For someone whose normal idea of math was adding verses to the song about hedgehogs, this was rather complicated. Finally she nodded. “Get my precious another sweetie and then clean up after him,” she directed, heading out to the backyard. The sighs of relief could likely be heard all the way to where the sun doesn't shine.

Granny followed her out. “I didn't come to talk about cleaning.”

“I knows. But there’s some things they've got to keep in mind, and fear’s one of them. It wouldn't do for me to start letting them slip.”

Weatherwax shook her head, but Nanny could tell by the look on Granny’s face that this wasn't why she came either. Like with all things, it was probably good to get to the bottom of the matter, except in cases of chocolate with nougat.

“Why’re you here, then? And where’s Agnes, or is this gonna be a talk we’re having without her?” Nanny looked around. It wasn't like Agnes could be hiding behind anything. Except maybe the house, but Agnes also wasn't the sort to be doing that. She liked Agnes. Most days.

“There’s somethin’ watching,” Granny said with a frown. “Watching and not waiting, and I doesn't like it, Gytha.”

Nanny frowned, glancing up toward where the Stones were. “It can’t be—“

“It ain't. It’s only slightly paying attention here, and so’s I’m going where it’s paying most of the attention.”

“You sure you don’t want to be here, then?” It only made sense to Nanny to not be the focus of something that might be bearing down on them, but Granny had never done things that way, for reasons beyond Nanny Ogg.

“I’m sure.”

There was a pause. Granny wanted to be asked, Nanny knew it, and Nanny almost didn't want to ask. She certainly wasn't going anywhere. No thank you. It was her Pewsey’s sixth birthday in a week and she wasn't going to miss that. If she didn't question the destination maybe she wouldn't get dragged along. “You don’t like traveling to foreign parts.”

“It ain't.”

That narrowed it down somewhat. It meant it wasn't Uberwald, at least, or Genua, or a few other places. But it didn't narrow it down enough for Nanny’s tastes. She was going to have to ask. Esme was using headology right back on her, and she didn't approve. But she had to know. “Where?”

“Ankh-Morpork.”

“I ain't coming—“

“I knows. Just keep an eye out here. I’ll be back before anyone’s missed me.”

That was potentially true. Granny wasn't exactly a social butterfly. She wasn't exactly a social anything. People went to her when they needed her, but generally stayed out of her way. Nanny nodded. “Good luck, then.”

“I don’t hold with luck.” Granny turned to walk away, already glaring at her broomstick. Then she stopped. “You best be keeping an eye out, Gytha.”

Nanny nodded. “I always does, Esme.”

~*~ 

“I think I’m missing what the problem is,” Fred Colon said, scratching his head.

“They broke in! Culprits broke in! That’s a crime, that is!” The nervous candy-maker wasn't having a good day. First there had been the break in, and now he had to explain a situation he didn't fully understand to two Watchmen, one of whom was carrying papers to prove he was human.

“They gave you more treacle, though,” the second Watchman was saying, looking at assembly line and the workers on it.

“But they broke in!” That was the key point. Someone had come into his workshop when they weren't supposed to be there.

“They didn't even break a window. Or the lock.” Colon was eyeing the door now.

“And nothing was taken.” Nobby took a step closer to where seasonal treats were coming off the tables, glancing into one of the barrels.

“No, but…” It was useless.

“We’ll report it, of course,” Colon said. “But that’s all we can do. Most people would be excited to be given something else around Hogswatch.”

Shortly after they’d gone the count in one of the barrels was discovered to be off, short a good ten pieces, but at that point no one really wanted to bother the Watch. Besides, everyone knew that some of the coppers were used to… a little extra. And the factory had that extra to spare, now.

~*~

Drumknott knocked at the door. Vetinari knew it was Drumknott, because no one else knocked quite like him. That was on purpose. While Vetinari didn't need to glance down at his schedule book, he did anyway. Sure enough, there was no one scheduled to come at this time.

“Come in.” It was the only thing to say, really. Anything else was impractical.

Drumknott stepped in. “I apologize for the interruption, but there’s a…” It wasn't often Drumknott was at a loss for words. Vetinari found this rather interesting and gave his secretary time to find what he wanted to say. “…woman here to see you,” Drumknott finally finished.

“Send her in.” A woman? As if the clerk couldn't find anything else to call her. Fascinating. And it was a woman indeed who swept in, an older woman with a pointed hat. The hat was important, or so he’d heard. Vetinari stood. “Welcome to Ankh-Morpork. I assume you’re visiting.” It wasn't much of an assumption. You didn't tend to find witches in the city; something about the wizards tended to send them looking for the countryside. …Though something about the wizards sent a great many people looking for the countryside. They were a lot to take in, and not just because of their average size*.

“You’d be Havelock Vetinari,” she said, looking him over.

He nodded. Considering her age, the look of her hat, the outfit she was wearing, and the shape of a broom, Vetinari made an educated guess that wasn't much of a guess at all. “And you’re Esme Weatherwax.”

There was a pause while she sized him up now, and he’d known it was coming. It was a rare event, having someone intelligent enough to play this game with, and he didn't see a point in skipping over the initial forays.

Unfortunately, it seemed the universe disagreed with his wishes in this particular area. There was a clomping on the steps, a tread that Vetinari knew well, though most of the time it was far more reluctant. He heard the pause as the walker hesitated, clearly trying to figure out if this was worth speaking to him about. Once the decision was made, the person who wore thin-soled boots continued his journey to the waiting room.

“See Commander Vimes in, Drumknott,” Vetinari said, sitting back down. “Your pardon, Ms. Weatherwax, but this is likely of some import.”

“So’s mine,” she replied, taking one of the chairs facing the Patrician. “And maybe it’s connected. Or maybe it’s not. I’m not going.”

Drumknott looked from Vetinari to Weatherwax and back, clearly not sure if he should show her out first, or simply follow instructions. Vetinari waved him to the door. A contest of wills with Granny Weatherwax was not something he wanted to have in front of Samuel Vimes. It was better to keep the Commander a little off-balance, and such a contest could put Vimes more at ease than Vetinari wanted.

A few moments later Vimes entered, opening his mouth and stopping when he saw the witch.

Vetinari gave Vimes a blank look, as if he didn't understand the hesitation. This always took care. He wouldn't trade Vimes for any other Commander, but sometimes he had to be worked with gently, guided to the right path. It was only difficult because Vimes was smart.

“There have been some break-ins,” Vimes finally said. Good. It was always better when the Commander spoke first.

“And you’re in hot pursuit of the culprit?” Vetinari knew the answer was no. There had to be something else going on for Vimes to be here.

“Culprits, it would have to be, but no.” The Commander was frowning. It was the one he tended to get when things weren't adding up right. Vetinari didn't see it often, but that had to mean something was more unusual than their usual run of strange crimes.

“Why not?” Vetinari had no problems with asking the clear questions. Certainly Vimes would get around to explaining on his own, but if Granny Weatherwax was here and thought there might be connections then he would certainly lubricate the mental paths to make those links.

“They’re not really… crimes,” Vimes said. “Factory locks are being picked, and extra supplies are being left. Nothing’s taken, nothing else is disturbed.”

There was a moment of silence. Motive would be the thing lacking, then.

Esme was the one to break that moment, leaning forward. “What happens to the extras?”

Vetinari considered that question, trying to find her train of thought. Logically they’d be used by the factories, unless she expected the excess to be going somewhere in particular.

“That’s where it might become a crime. Half of the extra product, when made, vanishes. But there’s still enough to compensate the factories for the labor. Plus there’s always a little money left where the end results vanish from, so you could say they’re being paid for their work and more than they’d make otherwise.”

But there was still a crime, of course. It wasn't willing. And that’s why Vimes was on it. Vetinari steepled his fingers, watching Weatherwax and Vimes considering each other.

There was a detail Vetinari felt he needed. “Which factories?”

Vimes stopped looking at Granny Weatherwax, facing the Patrician again. “MacGrugor’s Ye Olde Candieee Factorye, the Live To Dye dye factory, Scensational Scent and Flavor Works, and the new place that’s trying to make individual wrappers a thing and not just on sausages.”

“Red,” Weatherwax said.

There was no surprise on Vimes’ face as he nodded. Red dye.

Vetinari’s eyes narrowed, though, because he recalled a report… “Drumknott?”

The clerk brought it in, handing it over. This was one reason the man was indispensable, beyond the many others. He seemed to always have the right file on hand. Skimming the paper, Vetinari found what he was looking for. “Mint, too. Specifically peppermint.”

Vimes nodded again.

“It’s some sort of candy-making crime?” Drumknott clearly couldn't keep quiet any longer. Vetinari handed back the report and waved his man out.

“No victims, no clues, because the people who bought several peppermint fields outside the city are essentially nameless.” Vetinari went ahead and answered Vimes’ unasked question. It didn't do to withhold information. Some of the time. In this case.

“And we even know what’s being done with it,” Vimes said. “They’re making some sort of hook-shaped candies, calling them shepherd’s staffs, and giving them out. But we don’t know who the ‘they’ is, or why.”

“They ain't just handing them out in Ankh-Morpork,” Granny said. Both men looked over at her. “Some’s got ‘em as shouldn't in Lancre, too.”

“So you’re here because there are unexplained sweets in Lancre?” Vetinari knew this was an oversimplification. It was deliberate. Most were hasty to explain when you broke things down incorrectly.

“No.” …Most did not include Esme Weatherwax, unfortunately. If only Vimes wasn't here. Vetinari would enjoy a battle of wits with this woman, but there were matters to settle, and he couldn't let the Watch be distracted for long. They were useful, but they were useful when, like all guilds, they were applied properly.

He waited a moment, but Vetinari knew she wouldn't give in easily. It was something about her eyes. Or maybe her nose. Perhaps the hat. No matter. “You’re here because…” He spread his hands, inviting her to explain.

“Something’s watching. And I think this is part of it.”

Something. Less than he’d hoped for, considering the woman’s reputation, but also a little worrying in light of it. She didn't know what was going on either. Was this a serious matter? It was candy. But there had been numerous intrusions in the past, ‘something’ trying to cause problems for the inhabitants of Ankh-Morpork and beyond.

Vetinari nodded. “Look into it, Commander, but don’t focus too much on it. If there’s nothing we can charge them with…”

“Entering and trespassing,” Vimes replied. Of course. Give him long enough, and he always found his footing.

“Then I hope you find your man,” Vetinari said. It was a dismissal and Vimes knew it, nodding and leaving.

To Vetinari’s dismay, Esme stood as well. “I’ll be going too. Gots some people to be seeing.” She headed out, and he watched her go.

As soon as he heard the doors closing downstairs, Vetinari cleared his throat. Drumknott entered. “She’s going to the wizards. Make sure of it.”

The clerk nodded and departed as well, leaving Vetinari to tap his fingers and think.

_*In some parts this could be considered an insult, but for most wizards, being thin was a sign that someone wasn’t wise or old enough to enjoy tables full of food several times a day. Being a wizard was the gateway to mealtime, in many eyes. And mouths._

~*~

Twyla wanted another sweet. It wasn't like the household was short on them; for some reason there were plenty of the peppermint things and she had permission to eat ‘a few’ after dinner. And Susan Sto Helit generally wouldn’t mind. Both kids had been good today, and Twyla hadn't tried to be overly cutesy even once. The problem was that there was a small rat-shaped skeleton sitting in the dish holding the treats.

“Out,” Susan said.

SQUEAK, replied Death of Rats, and Susan could feel a headache coming on.

Grabbing him by his little robe, Susan lifted him out of the bowl and unceremoniously dropped him off the table. “I don’t care. I’m busy.”

“Too busy?”

Susan whirled around to see a slender girl giving her a wary smile that tried to be warm. Violet, Susan’s mind supplied. The tooth fairy. Stayed with the former oh god of hangovers, and Banjo… “You sent him?” Susan’s gesture took in Death of Rats.

“Not exactly,” Violet said. “Can we talk?”

“Talk?” Susan didn't do talk. Much.

“Girl talk, sort of.”

And she really didn't do girl talk. Whatever that was. Ankh-Morpork culture seemed convinced it was all about the latest shoes, underclothes, and hairstyles. Susan liked black for the first, the second was no one’s business but her own, and her hair styled itself.

“It’s about Bilious. And Banjo.”

Oh. That sort* of girl talk. Though Susan wasn't sure how Banjo would come into it. She sighed. “Give me a minute. Wait here.” The treats were soon given to Twyla and Gawain and Susan went back down to the kitchen. “First of all,” she began as she entered, stopping short as a too-familiar raven flapped away from one of the shining ornaments hung from the chandelier. Sure enough, there was the headache, right on cue.

OUT. Susan felt no regrets using the voice, but it didn't seem to work on the bird. Of course. It spent all its time with her grandfather.

“Should I…” Violet was looking at the door.

“Not you,” Susan replied. “You sit, you talk. How did you run into these two?”

Violet sighed. “They sort of… found me.” She looked at the raven and rat before looking back at Susan. “There’s something going on, and I don’t know what it is. But… Would you come back and talk to him?”

That was less than useful. “Who?”

“Banjo. He and Bilious have some sort of plan, and I’m worried.”

She didn't want to go. This really didn't concern her, and she was happy, more or less. She was mortal, and she wanted to act like a mortal. But so was Violet, and none of this was her fault, probably. Susan relented somewhat. “I don’t know if I can get there.”

Violet’s face lit up with gratitude. “I know how to get us both there. You won’t regret this!”

Susan already did.

_*That sort of girl talk generally wasn't as common as most** believed, being the sort that solely featured males that were of an approximate marrying age and the woes of courtship in its various forms.  
**the writers of moving pictures_

~*~

It was always strange, walking with Esme, Ridcully reflected. Had things been different… but that was another leg of the trousers. It was also strange seeing her in the city. Esme wasn’t the city type. But that wasn't the topic at hand. “There’s been a thaumic imbalance, certainly, but no more than—Did you see that?”

“What?” Esme turned, but the two women Ridcully had seen skirting the corner were gone. Something had been off, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

“No matter,” he said. “As I was saying, it’s a normal fluctuation you get this time of year in this city. There’s a lot of belief going around.” His voice was full of absolute certainty, even though it had only been recently when everything went off the charts because of an overabundance of belief.

Esme looked at him as if she could see right through him and his bravado, and Ridcully suddenly felt very naked under his robes. Really, he _was_ naked under them, but it was a different feeling.

“You’re bluffing,” she replied. “You wizards’ve noticed nothing.”

Sometimes he hated it when she was right. It made his whole gallant and confident act fall apart. Ridcully tried to salvage the conversation. “Because there’s nothing going on to notice, that’s all. We keep an eye on things. We have to; the patrician makes sure of it.” That got her thinking, which meant she was no longer exactly on his case, which was a relief.

“You’re watchin’.”

He wasn't sure he liked that tone of voice, but he bravely blazed on anyway. “At all times.”

“Even Lancre?”

“Of course.” No, not really. He had no idea what had been happening in Lancre recently.

“You’re lying again.”

Make that sometimes an always. Ridcully always hated when she was right. “Our responsibility is to the city, and we have to focus on Ankh-Morpork. I’m sure you understand.”

“I understand, all right.” She paused, and he began to feel a little hope. “I understand that you lot ain't seen a thing when something’s going on all over the place.” And just as quickly as that, his hopes were dashed.

“I assure you—“

“Nothing. You assure me nothing. There’s something watching and dabbling and it’s focused on your city.”

Was she right? That would be disquieting. They hadn't heard anything from the other planes in a while, and no one could recall the last time Rincewind had run through*. Could there be interference that none of them had noticed? Clearly there was only one way to figure it out. Ridcully drew himself up to his full height and took on the most studious and serious voice he could. “I will get to the root of this. You have my word.” And then, before she could ask dangerous questions like ‘when,’ or worse, ‘how,’ he was walking away. It was only once he was safely ensconced in University walls that Ridcully realized one of the two women had been the granddaughter of Death. Odd, that she’d be sneaking about. But no one seemed dead or dying, and he put it out of his mind.

_*That is, they knew the general when, but it could get hard to keep track of the last time one specific man ran through the Unseen University shrieking about untold horrors after, oh, the fifth or sixth time._

~*~ 

Long before Violet and Susan reached Banjo, Susan could smell the peppermint. The scent was everywhere. She just didn't know why it mattered. Then they reached his room and she had another clue – the new candy filled bowls on every surface, red and white stripes giving some color to the place – but she still didn't know what to do with the clues she had.

“Banjo?” Susan asked. He’d seemed… simple. He looked up from a list, and Bilious stepped out from behind a shelving unit. The latter would be easier to talk to, probably, except enough people had gone around Banjo in his life.

Banjo just looked at her, waiting.

“Hello,” she tried again.

“Hello,” he replied.

That had gotten her nowhere. Plan B, then. “I’m going to borrow Bilious for a minute, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay,” Banjo said, returning to his list.

Susan grabbed the former oh god by the elbow and pulled him out into the hallway. He looked a little sheepish and a little guilty, and that was enough for her. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Susan didn't have time for this, and she didn't have patience for this. “Tell me,” she said, "and tell me now."

He flinched, looking down. “We sort of… had an idea.”

“We?” This was the slowest interrogation ever. Why had she agreed to do this?

“You and Banjo?” Violet asked. Right, that was why. The actually mortal girl who had been roped into this whole situation. The overly simple, actually mortal girl.

Bilious nodded, glancing at both women. “Well, more like he did.”

“Candy,” Susan said. She’d tried shoving him into talking, which she should have known he’d have some resistance to, being what he was. Now it was time to nudge.

“Exactly!” Bilious smiled, as if that one word made it all make sense. Maybe he read something in Susan and Violet’s faces, though, because he looked back down. “It’s to make their jobs easier, the people who go and get the teeth. You know, fewer trips.”

Susan had a lot of practice filling in gaps, which was good because he was leaving some huge ones. “So more sugar would equal…”

“…more teeth coming out, and more easily,” Bilious finished. “And then it’s not so hard on the kids, either, because they get their money faster and the candy.”

It was a plan. Susan didn't know if it was a stupid plan or a smart plan, but she had a feeling it was something in between. “And it’s working?”

“We’re sort of still watching to see,” Bilious replied.

Violet was frowning. “This is what you couldn't tell me? Your whole big plan?”

Sensing some sort of lover’s spat coming on, Susan tried to redirect the topic. “And how did you begin to accomplish this?”

Bilious went from looking nervous at Violet’s questions to proud at Susan’s. “We expanded some holdings, and slipped in and out of places. I can show you.”

She shook her head. “It’s got to stop.”

Both blinked at her.

“Why?” Bilious asked.

“There’s an order, and…” Susan stopped herself. “You know, I don’t care. I’m human.” Mostly. “This isn't my business. You need to decide if people are being hurt and if this is right. Not me. I’m done.”

“Wait!” Violet called, but Susan was already walking. She remembered where they’d come in. It was the work of seconds to walk back through the weak spot and home. It wasn't her business. If teeth fell out before they were supposed to, what did it matter in the grand scheme of things? It wasn't very clever, but it wasn't hurting anything.

She walked past one of the Night Watchmen, the Captain who everyone knew was more. He nodded to her, she nodded to him, and then she stopped. “Excuse me,” she said.

He’d already been looking elsewhere, but promptly he turned back to her. “What can the Watch do for you?”

Polite, like she’d heard. Susan paused but decided to ask anyway. “If something’s not hurting anyone, just speeding up a process, is it still wrong?” They were supposed to know the answer to questions like that, weren't they? It was part of the social myth of cities. The coppers were the good guys who had the answers. Susan had lived here long enough to know that was rarely the case, but for all her doubt, sometimes the stories of Vimes and Carrot were good ones.

The Captain was clearly thinking it over, frowning. “No one is getting hurt at all?”

Susan opened her mouth to answer and stopped again. How did she know? Toothaches were painful, she’d heard, and slipping in and out of places didn't sound particularly promising. “I don’t know,” Susan answered.

“Then I don’t know.”

It was a fair answer. Susan nodded in thanks.

“Is there something that should be looked into?”

It made sense that there would be follow-up, really, but Susan just shook her head. “No, thank you.”

Captain Carrot gave her a smile. “I hope you find your answer.” And with that he was heading off, waved over by a Troll looking at something. Susan watched him go before heading back to the house. All of the candy was going to go in the trash. The kids might not be being hurt, but she wasn't risking it.

~*~ 

“And, as you can see, the thaumic readings are entirely back to normal.” It was the day after Hogswatchnight. The candy was gone, nothing else had vanished or appeared, and Ridcully was showing off the readings.

For once, Vetinari didn't know what to think. There had been no lasting damage done. Everything was back to normal. Even the drawing on Leonard’s page had vanished. Whatever the fixation had been on the staff-shaped candy, it had passed. Part of his mind said he should be relieved, the influence was likely finished. The other part was frustrated because it was something out of his control that had influenced his city.

But it could have been worse.

And he could also have it worse. Vimes still hadn't found a single clue as to who was behind it, and while the lack of clues should in itself be a clue, it hadn't worked out that way. He looked about ready to arrest the thaunometer. All the same, this was Ankh-Morpork. Surely something would come up in the next few days that would distract the Commander. It always did.

Vetinari walked Esme Weatherwax out of the Unseen University after the demonstration.

She frowned at him once they exited. “Things like this don’t just up and leave. They wait, and they finds chances, and they takes them.”

“And should they take them, we will be ready, my good lady.” Vetinari gave her his most confident smile.

She shook her head. “We’ll see.” Then she was headed off. Vetinari, for once, watched someone go. Intriguing, meeting her. He wasn't particularly sure he wanted Weatherwax back in the city. But that was a thought for another day. Today, he needed to find some small issue to give a tiny nudge to spill into something that would capture Vimes’ attention. He climbed in his carriage and set off, back to the palace.

~*~

There was no fanfare when Granny returned home. She chased the badger out of her privy again, swept up the leaves that had made their way in, and made some tea. There hadn't been hostility in the watching. At least there was that. And the Patrician fellow wasn't entirely useless. He was sharp, for someone who wasn't a witch, and that was a rather high compliment in her mind. All the same, she wasn't going to trust him to keep an eye on things, just like she didn't trust Ridcully, no matter how he did make an effort when he saw reason.

No, keeping an eye out was the job of witches and watchmen, and after meeting the Vimes person she’d heard stories of, Granny had a feeling the Disc wasn't especially doomed any time soon.

Maybe.


End file.
